by Spencer Orey
The caravan season should have ended with the onset of the rains. Unpredictably flooded trails and the rise of furious displaced snakes made it treacherous to cross the forest we called the Heart of Rain. Moreover, the best of the lion guides had long since crossed over and were now feasting through their earnings. The only lions still offering their services here at the border were the worst of the lot and the most corrupt. Nobody who knew any better would choose any of them. And yet, wagons full of desperate refugees and travelers kept arriving in hopes of a better life away from the pride lands.
The latest donkey-wagon waiting at the inn’s crossing post looked desperate enough. A cheetah waved in hopes of attracting a suitable lion guide while a cheetah cub, likely hers, scratched at the nearest wheel. Other cats chattered in the wagon. I wondered if they’d be desperate enough to choose me as a guide, even though I was no lion. Nobody ever chose a tiger like me, but I could at least offer my services.
I slunk out from the inn’s overhang for a slow and polite approach. Old Grezzawel the lion shoved past me with his tail arrogantly raised. He said, “Do not think to ply your foolishness here, striped one. That wagon is mine.” His steel sword shone on his back.
Even here on the outskirts of the pride lands, I was supposed to acquiesce to the lions. The smallest hesitation could put me in danger from those who’d gladly use sword and claw and tooth to remind me of my place. I should have slunk away. Instead, I approached the wagon.
The cheetah’s gaze flicked over me and lingered on Grezzawel. To her, he must have looked like a figure cut from stories about the Judge, the hero who’d guarded the trails across the Heart of Rain. Grezzawel played the part well, raising his silver necklace to show the Judge’s emblem. I hated that these corrupt lions dared to wear anything so sacred.
“I assume—” Grezzawel began.
“Do not trust that lion,” I interrupted. “I am Tamtammaragh-Tamrel, and if you’ll have me, I will help you.” The wagon flap stirred. A small, striped face peeked out to look at me.
There was a moment of shocked silence.
“Honey, come out here,” the cheetah called over her shoulder to the wagon.
An adult leopard slunk out from the wagon to join us. Before the flap closed behind her, I saw three cubs. A cheetah, a leopard, and yes, a small tiger.
Grezzawel laughed, sounding jolly, but he shifted his weight in subtle preparation to strike me. “Do not listen to this fool tiger. Rains are falling. Snakes are prowling. You’ll need a true guide who can guarantee your passage.”
The cheetah raised a questioning paw at me. “Have you made the crossing before? Can you guarantee us passage?”
I’d never fully crossed the Heart of Rain, but I’d studied maps and followed caravans along the winding trails. I could do it. I said, “None can guarantee such a thing during the rain.” Grezzawel growled in anger, but I kept talking, “I can fight. And if you’ll have me, I swear to protect your group with every one of my lives.”
The cheetah looked me over in consideration. Then, heartbreakingly, she turned to Grezzawel instead. “What terms do you offer, great lion?”
It was a dismissal. And yet, I’d failed so many times at this before that it was hard for me to give up. I did not budge.
Grezzawel gave a cocky snort. “With such danger, you will pay me everything you own. On the other side, you will give me your wagon and your donkey.” He eyed me with a wicked shake of his mane then pointed to the wagon flap. “And one of the cubs, to raise as a servant. I’d prefer a tiger.” It was a horrific blood price.
In my outrage, I felt suddenly aware of the blade on my back. It was a brittle thing, so unlike the Judge’s legendary sword, unlike even this corrupt lion’s steel, but I could use it.
The cheetah reared back from Grezzawel’s demand. She turned to me, “And… your terms?”
“Are illegitimate,” Grezzawel said, shifting his weight again. “No weakling tiger can protect you from the vengeance of snakes. His kind are prideless cowards, unable to fight—” Grezzawel slid his sword out and struck at me.
I swung my blade free just in time. He was far stronger than me, and his sword bit so hard into mine I could tell my blade would break under too many blows. But I knew him. I’d studied from the shadows while he and the other lions practiced their swordplay. Grezzawel could fight, but he was no hero. He was not the Judge. And I’d grown up fighting bullies like him.
I feigned fear and stumbled back. He roared with triumph and leapt at me while I crossed under his eager swipe to bite my teeth hard into his unprotected forearm. He yelped but smashed his sword pommel down onto my head.
I flailed my sword as I fell. My vision spun from pain. Like a fool, I’d challenged a lion to a swordfight and lost. Now I’d die. There’d be no punishment for killing a tiger. I scrambled for my feet, claws out, ready to bat away Grezzawel’s killing blow, but I was too dizzy.
No killing blow fell. When my vision cleared, Grezzawel was stumbling for the inn, clutching his chest. Blood dripped from his fur onto the muddy ground. In my flailing, I’d struck him. I’d actually done it. I’d won.
The cheetah stared at me, head cocked in reconsideration.
Despite my throbbing head, I swept into a bow. “I am no lion. I will accept whatever payment you can afford,” I said. “Only, I ask that after we’ve crossed, you tell others that cats still uphold the true ways and would not steal your cubs or take your every last possession. I ask that you remind everyone that once there was a Judge, and although many lions have turned corrupt and cruel, there may one day be a Judge again. So I ask you now, will you have me as your guide?”
We left later that day.
* * *
We descended brown bouldery hills toward the Heart of Rain. As was their custom, the cats had not presented me with their names, and I had not asked, as was polite.
Out of sight of the village, the three cubs dashed free of the wagon and clambered onto me. I was wearing my armor, and the jangle of the bamboo stalks made the cubs giggle. The cheetah raced over to scold them away, but I waved her off. Better that the little ones learn to trust me while the road was still safe. Then they might listen to me when things turned bad.
The cheetah and leopard cubs were inseparable. They’d tumble away to pounce at each other in the road, but the tiger cub hardly left my back. Perhaps she’d heard Grezzawel demanding her as a blood price, or perhaps I reminded her of someone she’d lost.
We passed several final boulders before the Heart of Rain rose before us. Tall trees shook branches up into the rainclouds, ready to grow as their roots submerged for the long seasonal soak. Mostly, we saw lightning, always striking the same place. Each strike made the tiger cub cling sharper with her claws.
I remembered too well how it felt to be a scared cub. So, as others had once done for me, I told stories about the Judge.
Lightning struck. She dug in her claws again, and I said, “Fear not. That’s only the Judge’s sword.”
“His sword?” her claws eased a little. The other cubs raced over to listen.
“The Judge is the strongest of all warriors. He battles for all of us with his sword that casts lightning. We do not know what he battles. With each flash of lightning, his sword swings against evil. Take heart from the lightning, for the Judge is fighting to keep us safe.”
The tiger cub climbed forward onto my head, watching closer. When lightning flashed, she tensed without clawing. “But how can he fight like that? Doesn’t he need to rest?”
“His sword strikes with lightning,” I said. “His strong paws wield powerful magic. His invincible silver armor shines like sunshine itself.”
“Not like yours.”
I laughed. “No, not like mine.” My armor would barely blunt a sword strike. I was lucky Grezzawel hadn’t skewered me.
“But if he’s so shiny, he can’t hide,” the leopard cub said, suddenly at my side. “He can’t sneak up on his prey.”
“The Judge does not hide,” I said. “He arrives when and wherever cats need his help. At least he used to…” Lightning flashed again. I didn’t want the little ones afraid. I said, “Nobody can beat him in a swordfight. No evil can withstand his righteousness. Out there in the trees, he’s winning.”
“Like this!” The cheetah cub snatched a jagged stick from the ground and swung it at a nearby boulder. The stick broke, and the cubs giggled.
The two adult cats clustered in discussion with the donkey, thanking him for his patience on the tedious downhill. He flicked his ears at me in gratitude for carrying the cubs and sharing some small portion of the weight.
Trees appeared ahead on the trail, with green branches extended as though to ward us away. I hoped the season was early enough that the snakes might still be awakening from their holes, not roosting high, ready to strike.
Doubt found me. Could I truly serve as a guide through this place? Responsibility weighed on my paws with a sudden heaviness. I was telling stories about a hero and pretending to be one myself, when I was yet untested and untrained. My inexperience put my caravan in danger.
The first snake hole I spotted beside the narrow road had already flooded. The snakes would be angry.
Among the trees, there was no point in telling the cubs to keep quiet against their young inclinations. They were young and busy with chatter. Our wagon’s heavy wheels already acted as a beacon to anything listening for vibrations.
* * *
Hiss. Snakes leapt from the treetops, screaming, “Defilers of the rock! Remove your filth and return our land!” Some bared fangs. Others held knives in their mouths.
“Fight them off!” I yelled.
The adult cats leapt to protect the wagon while I searched for the real danger. I spotted a flick of leaves and struck with my sword. I missed. A pair of fangs clanked off my bamboo armor.
Every ambush was led by a snake priest. Lions called them fang spitters because they tore the fangs from fallen snakes to shoot at travelers. I swiped again into the grass.
The cubs screamed from inside the wagon. I turned their way and spotted the fang spitter trying to sneak past me. I grabbed it and threw it hard at a tree trunk, then dashed for the wagon.
I yelled, “Your priest has fallen! Leave us, snakes!” I threw open the wagon flap and found a trio of knife-wielding snakes.
The tiger cub was pressed fully into the corner, trembling with fear. The other two cubs had their claws out, trying to fight.
I roared. The snakes glanced at me and rushed to slither out the front of the wagon. Guides usually moved in pursuit. But when the tiger cub leapt onto me, mewling pitifully, terrified, in desperate need of comfort, I let the snakes escape.
* * *
The cubs were scared but otherwise unharmed, and the adult cats escaped with only scratches. The donkey took a bad bite to his front leg. We bandaged him with a salve that the leopard insisted contained one of her peoples’ effective antivenoms, but it did little to help with his limp. He nevertheless motioned forward with his ears, a brave claim that he could still walk, but he needed our help to push the wagon atop a small hill. We made early camp. It was too damp for a fire.
One attack in, and we were far worse off. I remembered Grezzawel’s hateful words: no weakling tiger can protect you from the vengeance of snakes. How much more of this could we survive?
The cheetah cub and the leopard cub snuggled together, asleep in the wagon with the leopard. The tiger cub refused to leave my side. She was awake and still shaking with fear.
The cheetah came to my side and took her daughter close. “I’ll keep watch for a while so you can rest.”
The tiger whimpered and reached for me. I said, “I’m good yet.”
Rain dripped steadily around us. The cheetah asked, “How many times have you completed the crossing?”
I thought about lying, in case it would help her feel safer. But the Judge would have stuck to the truth. “This is my first full crossing, though I have long stalked these trails in practice. No caravan before you dared choose a tiger when they could have a lion instead.”
The tiger cub made a sound like she wanted to speak, but she quieted down again.
“After the lions stole our land, we followed stories of the Judge into the pride lands of warm justice,” the cheetah said. “But wherever we traveled, the lions forced us out again, always pushing us back onto the road. From the stories… we expected better.”
I nodded in sad agreement. “As did I.”
“Tam, you may be inexperienced, but I am grateful to have you,” the cheetah said. “You saved my cubs today. That is no small thing.”
The tiger cub squeaked a little. “I was too scared to fight. I was a coward tiger, just like that mean lion said.”
“Darling,” the cheetah said, reaching for her.
The cub shook her away, nuzzling closer to me for safety. She said, “The Judge wouldn’t have been scared.”
I knew just what to say. “We all get scared sometimes. Even the Judge.”
“Really?” her ears perked up. “Then I wish the Judge was here with us.” Lightning flashed again and she followed it with her gaze. “Can’t you go get him?”
I laughed at that. “If I left, who would fight off tomorrow’s snakes?” I tried to say more but lost myself in a big yawn.
“Rest while you can,” the cheetah insisted. “We’ll need you fresh.”
My protest ended in another yawn. I handed the tiger cub to her mother.
I awoke to a roar.
* * *
At first, I worried Grezzawel had come for revenge. But after a second roar, we decided someone was in trouble. I volunteered to go, but the cheetah was faster. She raced away to investigate.
She came back shortly with a huge lion. He bore a steel sword on his back that shone brighter even than his cuirass, almost as bright as his necklace that bore the Judge’s emblem.
“He was alone,” the cheetah said, “fighting snakes.”
“And winning,” the lion said with a wicked grin.
I recognized him from the border village. He’d signed on with several other guides for the last full caravan. There’d been several long wagons, all pulled by friendly oxen. This lion should have completed the crossing long ago.
The leopard also appeared suspicious. “Where is your caravan?”
“Separated by ambush at the big bridge. Most of our wagons escaped. I fought until the snakes pushed our final wagon into the river. The whole wagon slid in, and so did I.” His sadness appeared genuine, at least. “Call me Cruwr. Take me with you.” He eyed me dismissively. “Surely you could use a truer swordpaw.”
The cheetah and leopard crouched together for discussion. Even as their guide, I was only a hired hand, so the decision was theirs. I would have sent the lion away. But when the cheetah glanced at me, it reminded me of her question about whether I’d made the crossing before, and I knew their answer.
* * *
Everything changed with Cruwr along.
When Cruwr pointed us toward a narrow trail that he claimed would avoid the bridge and also potentially a more direct route, I recommended against it. As the caravan’s guide, I preferred the trail I’d set us on. But the cheetah and leopard took Cruwr’s advice anyway.
We didn’t get far before we were forced to make camp. The ground underpaw turned to deep mud, where pulling the wagon made the donkey’s injury worse.
When snakes attacked our muddy camp in the evening, Cruwr struck faster than me. His sword was sharper. He wielded it better. While Cruwr butchered snakes, I once again sought out the fang spitter to end the ambush. Instead, I found a snake priest who bore a single giant fang.
He struck the fang into the mud and reared back to yell, “Defilers! Come with me and take your filth from our—” Cruwr sliced him in half before he could speak more. Then as the other snakes fled, Cruwr chased them down with swings of his steel sword that severed them against tree trunks. I was disgusted with him.
But Cruwr was beloved. The tiger cub still clung to me, but the other two cubs quickly took to Cruwr. He let them try to lift his sword and laughed fondly when they could not. When night fell, the cheetah and leopard seemed more relaxed to have him with us, even though he’d been the one to get us stuck.
He did all those things, but he would not speak to me.
I approached him several times, seeking to coordinate our efforts, seeking counsel about how to better protect the caravan. He wouldn’t let me finish a sentence before scoffing and walking away. His unspoken message was clear. I was a tiger who’d overstepped his place.
Worse, he scolded the tiger cub. She tripped, falling face first into mud, and he called her pathetic. He reminded her of her inability to fight. He called her a coward and a failure.
The rain fell heavier, and our injured donkey could not pull the cart. We were forced to remain in place in hopes that a full day’s rest might give him strength to pull the rest of the way out of the Heart of Rain.
* * *
Snakes attacked again. I heard the cubs screaming, so I raced to the wagon. Cruwr reached it first.
I found him ripping snakes away from the leopard and cheetah cubs but ignoring the tiger entirely. A snake was closing in on her, fangs bared to strike while she screamed louder and louder for help. Cruwr did nothing. No, he did worse than that. He laughed at her.
I pounced hard and tossed the snake outside.
With a furious growl at Cruwr, I put the tiger cub on my back and sought out her parents. I said, “Cruwr is dangerous and hateful. He must leave.”
Cruwr came out of the wagon with the other cubs riding on his shoulders. They giggled and didn’t seem to mind the snake blood on his fur and paws. Cruwr’s Judge emblem shone bright.
I said, “I know she is not your trueborn cub, but—”
“She is our daughter,” the leopard said with a hiss. “We are her mothers.” She plucked the tiger from my grip to nuzzle her close.
“We will discuss the matter with Cruwr,” the cheetah said.
I was not invited to that discussion. The rain stopped mercifully long enough for us to make a small campfire, and the cubs clustered near it for warmth. The donkey hung his ears to the side, relaxed.
The leopard and cheetah kept their voices quiet, but Cruwr was far too proud to whisper. I caught snarls of his words, “Disloyal…. greedy cats… only ever minding their own kind…”
The tiger cub whimpered.
I asked, “How about another story?” The other cubs snuggled closer. “The Judge’s sword—”
“Shoots lightning, we know. We can see it,” the leopard cub said. The cheetah cub shushed her with a soft shove, but they both stilled when lightning flashed. Cruwr’s trail had led us close to where the lightning struck.
“There was a time when his sword went missing. A bandit stole it in the night…” No, I’d chosen the wrong story, about an evil tiger. I shook my head.
“Tell us!” the cheetah cub yelled.
I tried a different story. “Another time, his armor…” No, that story too was about a terrible tiger. Cruwr’s words were digging into me. The tiger cub needed better, something to believe in.
“Are we getting a story or not?” the leopard cub asked. She put her head on her paws.
I chose my favorite. “There was a time before the Judge was a hero. When he was a cub much like you three, his family was attacked by—” tigers— “bandits who stole him away. The bandits demanded an impossible ransom. His parents tried to rescue him, but they were too weak to fight off the entire bandit horde. Next, his whole village tried to rescue him, but they failed too, for the bandits were simply too many. The Judge realized he’d have to rescue himself. Every day, bandits chased the young Judge around, poking him with swords, and the Judge learned how to dodge and move. Every day, he watched bandits train with their swords, and he learned to strike better than they could. The bandits claimed to be clever, but one day—”
“Telling tales about your betters?” Cruwr interrupted. The two adult cats were chasing after him, like he must have stormed off. He swept into a sneering bow. “My apologies for upsetting you earlier today. I’d foolishly imagined that a such grand tiger warrior would be capable of rescuing one of your own.” He paused to sneer at the cub. “Not that your kind merits rescuing.”
I snarled and reached for my sword.
“Hold.” The cheetah growled. She raced between me and Cruwr. To Cruwr she said, “You agreed to make peace, not inflame things with insults.”
Lightning flashed. I hoped the donkey could endure the next day’s march so we could finally be rid of Cruwr.
“When an inferior oversteps their place, they must be reprimanded,” Cruwr said. “Such actions are only natural.” He gave an exaggerated stretch of his back. “I find that saving all of your lives yet again has tired me out. Take the first watch, tiger. I’ll be sure to save you first tomorrow, since you’re such a weakling.”
I wanted to yell at him.
Instead, the tiger cub shrieked, “Cruwr, you don’t deserve to wear the Judge’s emblem. The Judge would be ashamed of you.”
He growled in anger, shifting his weight. When he reached for his sword, I sprang fast, grabbing his paw in my teeth.
With his other paw he swiped at me, but I’d already ducked away. Before, I’d angered him. Now I’d hurt his pride. I crouched low, ready for a bad reprisal.
Lightning flashed again.
“The Judge,” Cruwr said slowly, then laughed. “You tell stories about glorious lions while forgetting who those lions fought. It’s a shame nobody has shown you the truth.” He slunk to the edge of the firelight and curled up for sleep.
The cheetah and the leopard ducked their heads together in worried conversation.
While the others slept, I found myself glancing toward Cruwr more than I watched for snakes. Finally, the cheetah relieved me, and I curled up to rest.
It was still dark when the leopard shook me awake in a panic.
The tiger cub was missing. So was Cruwr.
* * *
In the dark, away from the trail, it would be harder to spot sudden drops into snake holes. Worse, in the rain, I might not be able to smell my way back to the caravan. “I’ll find her,” I said.
“He’d only kill you,” the leopard answered. “I’ll go. I can sneak through the trees.”
“Don’t go, mommy!” the leopard cub shrieked.
“I hate to say this, but… perhaps none of us should go,” the cheetah said. Her voice was quiet and pained. “When the sun rises, the snakes will descend upon us—”
The leopard growled. “You’d leave our daughter to that lion?”
“Cruwr is cruel, but if he means to punish Tam—”
“You wouldn’t dare say that if he’d stolen Ila.”
“But he didn’t.”
The duty of every guide since the Judge was to ensure their caravan survived with as many people as possible. If I chased after Cruwr, the cheetah was right that they might die without my protection.
I remembered the tiger cub shaking in fear in the wagon. How much more terrified must she be now, stuck with hateful Cruwr? I had to rescue her. I was going.
“He wants to humiliate me,” I said. “He wants to prove that he’s better with a sword, that he can strike me down. As if he has to prove such a thing.” I shook free of my bamboo armor and gave my brittle blade to the leopard. “Protect yourselves as best you can. Follow this trail. I vow to find your daughter and bring her to you.”
The donkey stomped in support.
I could smell Cruwr’s path, but I already knew where he’d gone. He was proud and wanted to teach me a cruel lesson. To find him, I had only to follow the lightning.
He’d taken her to the Judge.
* * *
The trail was perilous with holes and sudden streams. Snakes slithered overhead on branches but did not leap down on me. Perhaps they were showing strength, or perhaps they knew that the farther I went from my caravan, the easier of a target the rest of my group would be.
I followed the lightning along a flowing river of runoff lined with the wreckage of broken wagons until the tall trees suddenly thinned. I found an expanse of blasted mud covered in bones. In the middle of the mud stood a tall rock marked by a thousand snake holes.
Atop the rock, I saw the body of the Judge.
He hung high in the air, trapped by the skeleton of a gigantic snake, larger than any legend. The snake’s bones coiled tightly around him, as though in death the snake was still trying to crush his invincible armor. The Judge’s sword struck out through the top of the snake’s skull, point raised in the air. Sparks danced around the blade.
The Judge was dead. My hero was dead. I’d told so many stories about his invincible armor, his lightning sword, and his unflinching morals. He’d struck a killing blow, but his own armor had trapped him in place, like a cruel sculpture to eternal battle.
“So you see how goodness ends, how one failure draws others to their death,” Cruwr said from behind me.
I spun, claws extended to protect myself, but he stood well beyond my reach.
“Did you forget your sword, stupid tiger?” Cruwr was protected by his steel cuirass like a true warrior. His mane shone resplendent with raindrops. “Have you realized that you’ll never be a true guide?”
I didn’t see the tiger cub. I had no reason to hold to my pride like a lion would. I’d save her, no matter the cost. “Great lion,” I said, sweeping into a bow. “You have proven your point. I am no guide. Take the cub back to the caravan without me and help them leave. I will trouble you no further.”
Cruwr reared back with a laugh. “It’s a bit too late for all that.” He pointed at the rock.
I caught a flicker of movement from inside the snake skeleton. A striped paw. Cruwr had forced the cub inside the giant coils of bones. At least she was alive, but how many times had lightning struck on my way here? How could I even reach her without getting struck too? I’d have to climb the bones and pry her free before the Judge’s lightning could strike me down, as it had for so many tigers in stories before.
“You’ll never save her without one of these,” Cruwr said with another laugh. “Not that you are fit to wear one.” He raised his emblem and backed away into the trees. He was only baiting me to follow so he could slit me open. I ignored him. I had to rescue the cub.
A thin trail spiraled up the tall rock. I raced up and found myself at the thick base of the great snake skeleton. The cub screamed from higher up. The snake bones at the base coiled tightly. I tried to shove them apart, but the whole skeleton held. Other snake bones were wedged into the coils, as though many of them had attempted this climb before and failed.
I climbed the bones, closer to where sparks gathered brightly around the Judge’s sword. The Judge’s silver armor gleamed, still shining and invincible after so long. More sparks gathered. My fur rose.
I found the opening where Cruwr must have shoved the cub through.
“Climb this way!” I called.
The cub tried to reach me but kept slipping. The bones were slick from rain. I tried to wedge bones apart, but the opening was far too narrow for me. I needed another way in.
The Judge’s skeletal paw was still wrapped around his sword hilt. His blade plunged up through the snake’s skull. If I couldn’t free the cub, perhaps I could stop the lightning. I angled and kicked at the Judge’s arm. Sparks shivered up my leg, but I kicked again and again until the arm bones broke apart. His torso crumbled next, and his silver armor slid free from its long-coiled prison. But his sword hung in place, lodged in the snake’s skull, gathering stronger sparks.
The cub was screaming. My fur rose entirely, and I knew lightning was about to strike. “Get low to the ground!” I yelled to the cub. She didn’t hear me, only kept climbing closer, scrabbling in a panic up the slippery bones and reaching for me. She trusted me, and that trust would be her end.
I’d failed her. Lightning would shortly kill us both. In the end, I was no guide or hero. I was only the unworthy tiger everyone had always told me I was, reaching above my natural place, trying to be something I did not deserve. More sparks gathered, dancing across my fur.
“Tam! Help me!” the cub screamed.
No, I refused to let the cub die here. I grabbed the Judge’s sword hilt and wedged myself against the coiled bones as close as I could to the great snake’s skull. I pushed hard, and pushed again until I heard a snap. I pushed more, springing with my legs, and the skull pried free while I lost my balance.
I tumbled through the air with sword.
Lightning struck. My fur erupted in fire and everything flashed burning white.
* * *
“Give it up!” Cruwr shrieked. “Give me the sword!” He was raking at me to loosen my grip. The Judge’s sword was clenched in my paw. I couldn’t have let go if I wanted to. My body jolted involuntarily, then again.
The sword was sparking anew, gathering strength. I’d been lucky to survive a first blast. I wouldn’t survive a second.
Cruwr took a step back and drew his sword. Sparks danced across his cuirass. “I’ll cut it free,” he said. “I can be a new Judge. First among caravan guides. Imagine the riches.”
The Judge’s sword sparked more. Cruwr roared and raised his sword high to cut off my paw.
And the cheetah slammed into his side. He was so sturdy that she only staggered him, but she saved my life. Cruwr’s sword chunked down into the mud. The cheetah rolled away while Cruwr shook his sword free. He spun on her. I heard the tiger cub scream from nearby.
I was shaking and too weak to raise the Judge’s sword for battle, let alone swing it, but if I did nothing, the cheetah would die. The cub would lose her mother.
The Judge wouldn’t have given up. Neither could I.
I tried to get up and fight, tried to ready the sword.
I managed to point it.
And lighting erupted onto Cruwr, a column of bright burning death. It threw me back.
* * *
A paw batted lightly at my face. “Are you really still alive?” the cheetah asked. “How many lives have you lost today?”
The Judge’s sword lay next to me. It wasn’t sparking. My paw ached terribly.
“Cub?” I asked. I wanted to ask far more than that, but it hurt too much to talk. Where were the others? Why had the cheetah come for us, after trying to abandon her child?
“I got scared, and I chose wrong,” she said. “It was a mistake. I’m here now.”
I saw a flicker of movement from behind her, a striped tail. The cub poked out from behind her mother.
Cruwr’s charred remains lay face down in the mud. Raindrops fizzed on his burnt fur. His steel armor still shone, along with his necklace and the Judge’s emblem.
“Let’s return to the caravan,” the cheetah said. “The donkey can only fend off the snakes for so long.”
“Snakes won’t bother us anymore.” I’d understood what they’d wanted all this time. They’d called us defilers of the rock. The Judge’s lightning had rendered their home dangerous and inaccessible. How many snakes had failed to stop the lightning? The ground was littered with bones. “They can finally return home.”
All that remained was to remove the last of the Judge. And his armor.
I tried to get to my feet but stumbled. The cub darted out to support my weight with her back. Encouraged, I got up.
The Judge’s sword lay in the mud. If I touched it, would it call more lightning? It was one thing to tell stories about a hero who wielded magic. It had been another thing entirely to feel magic scorch through me and witness the destruction it wrought. In stories, the sword was a singular tool of justice. Now I saw it as a sparking border between life and death, a bright responsibility.
“Take the armor and sword,” the cheetah said. “They belong to you.”
The silver armor wouldn’t fit me. It’d been forged for a lion, and no lion smith would ever refit it for a tiger. I didn’t deserve it. But perhaps neither had the Judge. How much violence had he wrought upon the Heart of Rain by fighting the gigantic snake? How many caravans and travelers had been lost because of him?
I was making excuses. “I’m afraid.”
“Do not abandon what you’ve earned in fear that you aren’t good enough. Try instead to be worthy. Try always,” the cheetah said. “That’s all any of us can do.”
The cub nuzzled me.
My strength slowly returned. I sent the cheetah and her cub back to the caravan.
I took Cruwr’s emblem for my own, and then I buried him and the Judge together. It felt right, an acknowledgment that our many lives were messier than any simple legend, that all of us contained greed and pride and the sparks of heroism.
* * *
I found the donkey hitched to the wagon, ready to pull. The leopard and the cheetah nuzzled their tiger cub, holding her close, part of their family. The other two cubs mewled with awe at the sight of the silver armor and the sword. I was not the Judge, but I would try.
The snakes left my caravan unbothered. There would be more peace to be made with the snakes, reparations for old wrongs, new agreements to be made for safe crossings. That was for later. A peaceful rain fell, and we had a crossing to complete.
* * *
About the Author
Spencer Orey (he/him) is a Copenhagen-based anthropologist and graduate of Taos Toolbox and the Odyssey Writing Workshop. You can find him and more of his stories online at spencerorey.com and @spencerorey on Bluesky.